


The Hangman

by annhellsing



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Choking, Clothed Sex, Collars, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Hand Jobs, Light Dom/sub, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Time Skip, Reader is a Black Eagles Student
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:27:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24165106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annhellsing/pseuds/annhellsing
Summary: Lady Edelgard asked you to try and divine the cause behind Hubert's recent unhappiness, but she did not specify precisely how you should go about doing so. Luckily, you already know the best method.
Relationships: Hubert von Vestra/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 93





	The Hangman

**Author's Note:**

> this is just shameless smut with my fave character, basically. it's of no value, i just like the idea of hubert getting choked!

“Don’t worry, she still likes you,” you say to the shadow kneeling on your bed.

Hubert is only the shape of a man, etched out in black against your quilt and pillows. His hair is long and dark, swept over his eye and hiding half his expression. His face curls into a snarl, morphing from unreadable to malicious. His resemblance to a snake baring its fangs is striking.

“It hardly matters to me if I am liked, even by Lady Edelgard,” he replies, sounding curt and cold. As joyless as a corpse and forced here against his will, though you know that is not the case. You crooked a finger at him and he followed.

“Should I be flattered that you seem incapable of lying to my face?” you ask, hovering at the edge of the bed with something in your hands. He needn’t look very hard to find out what it is. His sneer turns to a smirk. 

“I wouldn’t, it only means I care very little for your opinion,” he says that like it’s a reminder and not yet another lie.

Your hand brushes his pale, pointed chin. You hold his face and he only puts up a perfunctory resistance, just enough to discourage without ever truly denying the act. He is a master at that, at dismissing what he wants.

“You’re trying a bit harder, now. Go on, Hubert, the third time might be a charm,” you tease. He doesn’t seem to appreciate it. His heavy brow manages to furrow even more, he looks dangerous.

“Your attempts to annoy me have been lacklustre as of late. Surely you can be more irritating, you have before,” he scowls, trying to make his words poison. They are still not to be believed. 

You shrug, turning his head to the side very gently so you might inspect the sharp curve of his cheekbone. You drag a finger over his pale skin, down the side of his face to the plunging line of Hubert’s long neck. His gold collar obscures most of it, you push your nail underneath it to pry it away.

“Hm, maybe not,” you mutter.

“Irritating doesn’t begin to describe you,” he hisses. You seem to grow bored with exposing his neck. Instead, you ask him to expose somewhere else.

“How astute. Open your trousers,” you say. Nevermind, it isn’t a request at all. It’s a command.

“Hmph,” he exhales, but does as he’s told.

His hands are white glove-clad, they fiddle with the buttons at the front of his trousers and waste no time. You crane your neck, watching his white undergarments appear beneath black fabric. They’re shoved aside just as quickly. His skin is even paler, with a trimmed thatch of wiry, black hair in sharp contrast to it below his navel. 

You look at him, greedy in the eyes and Hubert does his best not to meet the stare. He doesn’t want to shiver, to show any signs of weakness, but someone hungering for him is a sight not often seen. It is nearly enough to convince him to abandon the charade, to give into whatever you have planned.

Of course, he still has sense enough not to make it easy for you.

“Just as the lady said,” you tut, “or should I say Emperor.”

“Only if you want to lose your tongue,” Hubert hisses, his head snaps up. Your eyes are still greedy, but mentioning his mistress negates their effect. “The revelation of her new title is up to Lady Edelgard’s discretion.”

“Of course, of course,” you mutter, reaching out to brush your fingers through his hair. “My, I wonder how long it will take you to recognize when I’m having a bit of fun.”

“Perhaps when you amuse me,” Hubert grumbles, but he leans his head towards your seeking fingers. It’s foolish for him to hope you won’t notice that measure of desperation. When done correctly, even he enjoys being touched. 

“Waste your breath a bit more, Lord. I do so love hearing you gasp,” you smile with teeth and his expression turns again to a fierce snarl. Teasing is one thing, but this borders on mockery.

“Why, you—” his patience seems to give way, even with your gentle attention to soften the harsh words. 

Hubert sits up on his knees, leaning forward like he plans to grab you and upset the balance. But his moment to strike is blindsided by yours. He finds out what’s been bunched up in your other fist, and he knows it well. 

It’s a collar, a circle of black leather that fastens around his neck. The buckle at the front is like a belt, pulled taught over his throat and secured by your deft hands. You know how to do this almost too well, Hubert finally gives up that shiver. You smile, your teeth look like fangs but he still wants to kiss you.

His eyes find your lips, soft and pretty and so unlike his own. 

You watch the way he stares at you, with eyes like green glass. He takes his lip between his teeth momentarily, as if mirroring what he would like to do to you. You buckle the collar, dragging Hubert forward a little. Your other hand pushes between his spread knees, finding his cock and pulling it from his underclothes.

“There, nice and snug. Tight enough?” you ask. He isn’t given time to answer, the twitch between his legs does the talking for him. You give a firm, playful nod. “Seems like it.”

“You are infuriating—” you cut him off.

“Ah, there’s the truth. It looks pretty on you,” you give a short giggle, bending down enough that your lips are level with his. “How about a kiss? Just a little one?”

It’s phrased like a question for his embarrassment alone. But Hubert is the one who leans in, who offers up his thin mouth that yields under yours. You kiss the hangman. You kiss the hangman, with your finger pulling taut his noose.

He is brick red with lust and shame when you pull away. Slightly out of breath, Hubert offers up no further scathing wisdom. Instead, he visibly seethes and his cock gives another twitch. You reach between his legs.

“Let me hear you,” your voice barely rises above a whisper. “You’re talkative today, Hubert. Let me hear you.”

His length is pale as the rest of his skin, but bears a distinct blush around the blunt head. He’s proportionate, you note with a smirk, for one so tall. His cock is long and perhaps thin, but heavy in your palm as you begin to give him what he wants.

He needs no direction from you, not when things have gotten this far. Hubert reaches obediently behind his back, his thin hands gripping his ankles. He shifts, his thighs widening as much as his trousers will allow.

You withdraw your fingers from under the collar, thumbing open a few buttons to expose more of his neck. You dip your head again, claiming a kiss at his collarbone and jugular instead of on his mouth. He relinquishes a sigh that you’re pleased with.

“Such a good boy,” you mutter. He doesn’t have it in him to feign protest, not when he throbs so obviously. There will never be enough praise to satisfy him, but you do try your best.

Your fist gives a squeeze and he makes a sound adjacent to a yelp. Or a whine. It makes your smile more sinister as your wrist begins to move up and down. Every so often, your palm tightens at his base.

Your fingers stroke his hair with a loving fondness, lavishing gentleness he worries he has not earned. He yearns for you to tug, pull, yank until it hurts. It’s the very best way to feel something. But your gentle, seeking hand only moves back to the strip of leather around his neck.

Two fingers are slipped underneath it, it’s drawn tighter until his vision swims. He can see you through the slight hazy, dotted and ink-purple. You look ravishing, it’s too bad that it’s been decided that he does, too.

Hubert hums, his head lolling away from your grip on the collar. You allow it, allow him a moment of blissful indulgence. He urges your fingers to tug harder, he hopes to leave a mark. But before he can get anywhere near it, you interrupt him with words.

“You’re a beauty,” you tell him. He huffs and leans forward again so he can speak. The whole while, your other hand is busy between his legs.

“And you’re not a very skilled liar, either,” he replies.

“I mean it. Just look at you, Hubert. You look like a painting with your flushed cheeks,” you smile at him, your cheeks are as warm as his.

“Leave me be,” he almost begs, for you’ve given him another squeeze.

“Are you asking for mercy?” you lift a brow, the corner of your mouth tugs higher.

“The opposite, in fact. I ask you to be consumed by my undoing,” he sighs. His voice wavers on the edge of desperation, your fist moves up and down more languidly as a result. Can’t have him spoiling the fun too soon.

“So I’ll stop teasing you?” you ask. Not a chance.

“Ideally,” he nods, but seems to realize that.

“But I do so love to dote on you,” you smile, “this is far from a selfish endeavour.”

“Goddess—“ the name of a useless creator on his lips startles you a bit. But you turn your attention to his firm balls instead of voicing said surprise.

You’re gentle with him, rolling them in your palm and leaning in for more kisses. Still, even as you indulge him, you’re still thinking of ways to get reactions. He is so easy to fluster when he feels vulnerable.

“Edelgard says you’ve been giving her much grief and trouble,” you mumble, half against his lips. Hubert draws back, a viper again.

“Lady Edelgard,” he threatens, “and I doubt she said any such thing.”

“Perhaps not in so many words, but she seemed concerned for your wellbeing,” you reply. He cocks his head to the side, incredulous at best. 

“In this way, specifically?” he asks, you give a vague shrug.

“Would you be cross if I told you the idea may have been mine alone?” you ask.

He is almost relieved, in an odd way, that Edelgard did not guess his perversions. Hubert hasn’t the faintest idea of his own emotions on a clear day, only what his devotion could summarize of their relationship. And it has summarized it, nicely, for some time. Mistress and servant, he’s the sword in your arm. One would not want to kiss a blade, and the blade would prefer to go unkissed. He doesn't love Edelgard in that way, in the lecherous way he loves you.

To know that she had no part in asking this of you is a comfort, this stays between the two of you. Your teasing is harmless and hollow, so he replies, “I would only be pleased to know I was right.”

“You, pleased?” you smirk, still inches from his lips. He takes another kiss, even as you loosen your grip on him so that he might breathe. 

Your hand is just south of his most sensitive place, the newfound location pleasant but not as sharp a sensation. He gives a slight nudge of his hips, hoping to draw from you what he wants. He dislikes begging a great deal, but you always manage to incentivize it.

“Isn’t that what you intend to elicit from me, anyway? Pleasure?” he says it like it should be a statement, but his own questioning creeps in around the edges.

“Correct,” you mumble. “The lady advised me to inquire into your recent dour mood and distractedness over a cup of coffee,” you beam, “but I know best what you need.”

Hubert, in spite of himself, whimpers when you tug the leather again. Your palm presses to the inside of his thigh, urging him open ever-further. It’s so you can kneel between his legs, he realizes when you brace a hand on his shoulder for balance.

He takes his hands off his ankles, giving you a place to lean while you try to stay upright. The room fills with the sound of your laugh, high and sweet. Though he could never pretend to like the sound, even when directed somewhere other than himself, it produces a tugging sensation in his chest. He wants to hold you, all of a sudden.

“Are you all right, love?” you ask when his arms fold around your back. You're held tight to his broad chest, the proof of his arousal still present and poking at your mid-thigh. You smile into his shoulder, if something were really wrong he wouldn’t be giving you a hug.

He hums against your ear, just to prove that he heard you. You return the embrace, abandoning any pretence of dislike for each other. You care for him very much, as he does for you, though he tries to stifle it. In times like these, however, the fullness of his affections come bubbling to the surface.

“That isn’t an answer,” you reply, though you accept that the hug is all you’ll receive. “Lady Edelgard is worried for you, she wonders at how you have enough time for--”

“Enough,” Hubert says, “I am fine.”

“Hm,” you sigh, pulling back enough to look at his beautiful eyes and unhappy expression. He expects you to be annoyed, perhaps, at best, but you give him a little smile. And you tuck your fingers once again under the collar. “Would you like me to make you well?”

His eyes widen a fraction. Your searching hands return to their prior occupations with renewed interest that his body is happy to react to. Hubert exhales, sounding reedy and insistent. Though he can’t speak it, the answer is yes.


End file.
